


A Hand Extended in Welcome

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [32]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:42:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Andrew had come home; he knew that, felt unbelievable grateful for what he'd been offfered the opportunity to share.  Still, shadows from the past occasionally gave him pause, threatening his peace of mind.  A visit from Reverend Miles to welcome Andrew takes an unexpected turn and both of the younger men gain some new insights.  When Andrew lets them see his inner turmoil, will the gentle minister be able to bring some comfort and reassurance to them both?  Peter certainly hopes so. One thing he knew for sure, Hogan had a lot to answer for!





	A Hand Extended in Welcome

Peter had just put the kettle on for afternoon tea, but also making a pot of coffee, since Andrew seemed to favor that. Peter made a point of complaining about the necessity of doing both, though they both knew it was a sham.

"Bloody waste if you ask me. If you'd just get a civilized palate, we could 'ave done with that, you know! Coffee might 'ave its place, I'll not argue that, but 'ardly at afternoon tea! There's a reason they call it 'tea time', you know, Andrew!"

In fact, he actually found himself smiling to himself every time he put that pot on to boil, just in the knowing it was for Andrew, knowing just how the young man would grin at the sight of that steaming cup, take that first sip, and give that deep sigh of pure joy. Yes, if putting on a pot to boil would let him see that look on Andrew's face, he'd be glad to do it; that bit of complaining, well, that was just expected of him. 

It was just the two of them. Caeide was trying to round up that pesky Duggan again; she'd gone to inspect the summer pasture after breakfast, telling Peter and Andrew that she'd try to be back by mid afternoon, but no guarantees, but WOULD be back by full dark at the latest. It wasn't like when she lived here alone and a job took her well into the night; now, there were those who'd fret, and who were not well enough acquainted with Haven to come looking for her, so no good would come of it.

Well into the job, almost ready to head back, she'd seen that obstreperous ram, sauntering along the cliffs above her just as if he wasn't supposed to be securely enclosed in the fenced pasture to the far side of the homestead. With a groan, she knew her chances of getting back for that cup of afternoon tea she had been yearning for were now gone for good. She usually skipped a noonday meal when being out and about, it not going well in her stomach when mixed with hard labor or being on horseback for hours, so she'd been looking forward to that tea and a bit of something before the dinner hour. Even more, she'd been looking foward to a hot shower, oh yes, she'd really been looking forward to that! Heaving a sigh, she turned the mare to head off that highly inventive creature. If he wasn't such a reliable sire, with remarkably good features and a sweet temperment, well, for a ram, she'd have sold him off for mutton long ago!

Maude and Marisol had taken advantage of the coinciding of a spell of wet weather, a more easy schedule of work due to the shift in seasons - past planting and first tending, not yet at harvesting - plus having an extra set of hands on the place, and a goods fair in Conwy, and had taken the early train for a two-day shopping trip and a bit of fun at the quilting booth and the cheese making booth, and the like, trying to come up with new ideas for things Haven might try to produce. 

"Peter, did Maude leave anything to eat?"

"What do you mean, Maude? Didn't I feed you at the lunch table, Andrew? Ain't Maudie put that bit together, you know." 

Andrew wrinkled his nose, "Well, yeah, you fed me, but bread and cheese and pickled eggs is just, well, bread and cheese and pickled eggs."

Peter snorted; they both knew quite well what it was to eat really bad food; hell, they both knew quite well what it was to be so hungry that they'd have been right eager to eat really bad food; and his ploughman's lunch had been quite tasty, in his own opinion! Acourse, he'd forgotten to get out the ham, or the mixed pickles, and the apples he remembered only after they were already mostly finished, but still . . .

He knew what Andrew was really asking after, though. Seems his sweet tooth matched Peter's own, and he'd quickly become accustomed to Maude catering to his whims in that regard. {"Moon pies! Of all the strange concoctions and the totally silly names for someone to come up with! And 'e's the one who 'ad a dropped jaw over treacle pud, which is quite a treat, especially Maudie's version of it, the sponge all studded with raisins and bits of spice 'ere and there, served with that 'eavy cream from our own dairy cows."}

"Check the cupboard there, top shelf. Seems like I just might 'ave seen a tin with your name on it!" knowing full well he had, Maude having taken a care to point it out to him before she left. Andrew gave a gleeful little wiggle of anticipation, and stepped over to the pierced tin pie cupboard, pulling out a blue patterned tin with a scrap of paper banded to it. He leaned in to look more closely.

"Hey, there's another one in here with your name on it, Peter," and drew out a matching tin, but this one patterned in green. He hurried back to set both on the table, and popped the lids off.

"WOW! Boy, oh boy!" and leaving aside his affectation of bored disinterest, Peter moved over to take a look.

Of course, he refrained from the same infantile verbalizations that had indicated Andew's excitement, but he had to admit to more than a little pleasure at the sight. {"Scones, looks like she added fruit AND nuts to this batch! And blimey, some's got that good sharp cheese instead of fruit, and I think I see bits of bacon in those! And Andrew's got biscuits, bloody big thick ones, with fruit and nuts mixed in!"}

Forgetting his role as the mature, sensible, calm one, though there were many who would have given a dubious snort at the thought of him serving in that role in the first place, he gave his own wide grin, "it's a bloody feast we're looking at, Andrew!" Sending Andrew to get butter and the fresh cream cheese from the cold case, he got down the cups and saucers and such. They'd not settled down yet, though, when he heard a knock on the front door.

A surprise that was; there were rarely callers to Haven, not without prior arrangement being made. One didn't just drop in on a working farm and expect to find anyone available for a casual chat, after all, and they were too far off the beaten path for strangers to find easily. There'd been rumors of ne'er do wells targeting the outlying homesteads in recent months, though none in this area that he knew of, but there was always a chance some would be so foolish as to give Haven a try, given it was the biggest and most prosperous in many a mile. He knew it would be their LAST bit of foolishness, but then there were some that had no sense, and better to be prepared for those. He remembered Joey, and that business with a knife, back in London; yes, he'd learned then, for sure, that the idiocy of some villains just knew no bounds.

Peter gave a slight frown, "wait 'ere, Andew, I'll go check on that and be back in a tic." He didn't want to send Andrew, who didn't know the locals enough to recognize them, to know who might be friends and who just might not; in fact, he didn't want Andrew coming up against any of the locals, not while just in his company. {"Better let Caeide do the introductions; they'll take it better that way. I'd 'ate for their, well lukewarm, feelings about me to affect 'ow they welcome 'im; I don't want 'is feelings 'urt, and the lad's a bit sensitive,"} he told himself, never admitting his own feelings had been a bit bruised by some of the things said, some of the attitudes toward him, even now. He didn't even want to admit he HAD feelings, much less that they'd been bruised!

Now, ever the barracks defender, Andrew's defender, how easy it was to slip back into alert mode; how quick to jump to the defense, knowing Andrew was in the kitchen, his instincts telling him to keep any danger away! He made his way quickly out of the kitchen, down the hall past the stillroom, through the big front room to the solid wooden door in the middle of the far wall. Just in case, he checked the loaded pistol kept in the hidden space closest to the door, felt to be sure his pencil sharpener was in the side slit of his trousers. He remembered to take a quick peek out the viewing slit Caeide had made sure to point out to him; he knew from the outside it looked like just one more carved decoration, so no one would know they were being spy'd upon. Then, the caution on his face disappeared, the dangerous hardness to be replaced with a warm smile, and he hastened to open the door.

"Well, Reverend, it's been awhile. Come in, tea should be ready to pour, and there's coffee, if you prefer, and Maudie's left us a bounty, so there's plenty to share," shaking hands with the stooped, elderly and weatherworn man standing in the doorway, one of the first few who'd welcomed him when he'd arrived.

He yelled back into the house, "Andrew, be a good lad and bring a bucket of water through for the Reverend's pony, will you? She's come aways; bet she'd be glad of a drink!" and within just a minute or so, Andrew bounded in, bucket in hand, along with a carrot, because, well, Andrew, pony, there just had to be a carrot! The two of them stood there, watching with some amusement while Andrew introduced himself to the pony, after the Reverend explained her name was Sally, and he fed her the carrot, and showed her the bucket, and moved her to a spot where she could have sun or shade, as she wanted, and sweet grass to nibble. Only the thought of the tea, and coffee, and sweet treats waiting inside got him to leave this new attraction, as Peter reminded him, "coffee may be fine sitting, don't know that it makes much difference, but I don't like my tea stewed, and I expect the Reverend prefers it otherwise as well, Andrew, so come along now!" So they left Sally well content and made their way back in and settled at the table, Peter getting out a third cup and saucer, and all the rest.

"Well, Reverend, any thing special on your mind, or just come a visiting? You've met Andrew 'ere; 'e's going to be with us from now on," his eyes steadily, warily watching the elderly man for his reaction.

Reverend Miles had been one of the few who openly welcomed Peter, coming to spend many a comfortable hour with him, talking, listening to music, playing a friendly game of cards or chess once in a while. He was one of the few who hadn't taken offence at his presence here with Caeide, one who hadn't tried urging her to use caution around him, to even send him packing. Now, he was hoping the same welcome would be extended to young Andrew, but didn't know if his doing the introducing, rather than Caeide, would make a difference. {"Well, no 'elp for it, was there? What was I to do, pretend we weren't 'ere, wait for a time when Caeide was before letting that meeting 'appen? For some of the others, yes, but not for the Reverend."} He watched as Andrew let a welcoming grin cross that open, innocent face.

"Hi, Reverend. I'm real pleased to meet you!" and with that and the hearty handshake that accompanied it, the Reverend's heart was won over. He wasn't sure just how this buoyant young man came to find his way to Haven; he was sure he'd be told as much as Haven wanted him to know; but he could see by the look on the tall Englishman's face that Andrew was welcomed here, at least by him, and Reverend Miles knew not much happened at Haven without the lady's approval either, though for Peter he rather thought she'd make an exception, her 'fondness' for the man, to use a totally inadequate word in his opinion, well known to him. In fact, the right word he'd never actually been able to come up with; he wondered sometimes if it was because he spoke mostly English and Welsh, and those languages just might not stretch that far. Well, he'd been given more than a hint from the others, as well, as to the lad.

He could see Peter watching, waiting for his reaction, anxious for his reaction, and he smiled with reassurance, and nodded, then said, "and it's pleased I am to be meeting you too, Andrew, and it's welcome you are! Now, what's this I hear about a bounty from Mistress Maude?" and they settled in to drink coffee, and tea, and devour in one sitting the sweets Maude had intended to last the full two and a half days she and Marisol would be gone. 

They lingered at the table, talking, and as the afternoon wore on, Peter brought out a bottle of good whiskey and poured a glass for each of them. He excused himself at one point, to go do some necessary chores with the stock, leaving the two of them to become better acquainted, and was comfortable enough with their interaction to do so. When he returned, he lit the lamps in the kitchen against the growing gloom of the day, and slipped back into his chair, and the conversation simply became three handed instead of two, but all with great ease.

Somehow, he never remembered quite how, the conversation eventually became more serious, slightly somber. Perhaps it started with the recounting of his less than steller welcome by some of the locals, perhaps with the pastor gently warning Andrew to expect some hesitation on the part of the locals in welcoming him, "them not being so used to newcomers, you know, and naturally suspicious of strangers. Not to worry, lad, they'll get your measure soon enough; just be patient with them, try not to take offense at their ways, and it'll turn out alright." 

He sat back, took another sip of the really quite good whiskey, looked up at them with a hint of mischief, "I must admit, I'd not come here by chance today. I'd heard from Caeide when she brought me that lovely basket of treats that you were all hoping young Andrew would join you here, and when I came upon Mistress Maude and Miss Marisol early today as they made their way to the station, they spoke of his arrival, and suggested I might make a call, to be introduced, and that they rather thought you were both intending to be ahome this afternoon, with Caeide wandering the high ways. So, knowing how Peter DOES like his tea, and knowing how Mistress Maude tends to indulge him," to the joined laughter, "I timed a visit hoping I might be invited to partake and get to know the latest addition to Haven."

Andrew had heard from Peter about the pastor, about his having given Peter a warm and sincere welcome when few others did, about his kindness, his easy company, and much more, and was happy the man had taken the time to come meet him. 

Maybe it was the energetic, friendly statement by the good Reverend, along with the strength of the whiskey, or maybe it was just something waiting to brim over in him, "and I wanted to waste no time making your acquaintence, Andrew, for knowing you'd be good company and a welcome asset to this household, you see."

Andrew, unlike his more jubilent self, slowly, gradually lost his smile and developed a slight frown at that, and appeared to be thinking far too intensely.

"Andrew?" Peter asked with concern, "what's to do, now?" This wasn't what he'd have expected from his young friend.

Andrew looked up at the old man sitting with them, and his eyes had changed, had become older, old even, and wounded, bruised, and in a low voice, "why would you think that? For all you knew, for all you know, I could be some lazy hanger-on, looking to be taken care of; someone who didn't have the sense or ability to make it back home, or someone trying to take advantage of them. Or someone who hasn't the sense to understand just why I was invited, what purpose . . . That I'm maybe here in place of . . . What makes you think I'm not, what makes you think you'll LIKE me?" and in that moment Peter realized the General had made time for at least one more conversation, for Andrew hadn't met any of the locals yet, and even they'd not have the nerve to go that far in their comments, not about young Andrew, and risk Caeide's wrath, and neither Kinch or Louie would have spouted such nonsense. Certainly it hadn't come from any of those at Haven, and Caeide had been given the task of acting as his secretary, so he'd have known if any letters had suggested such, though the General's had hinted at some of that, perhaps.

Peter closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head, unbelieving, anguished, wondering how to undo this damage. If he'd known about this when Hogan had still been here, they would have come to blows, he had no doubts of it; come to blows, at least! To do what he'd done to Caeide, at least, tried to do to Caeide was one thing, but THIS! Perhaps Hogan would have ended up on that far hillside after all; he knew Caeide would have agreed, would have helped him accomplish that. Anything, to avoid that look in Andrew's eyes! He looked at Reverend Miles, pleading in his eyes, but the Reverend was looking at Andrew, and didn't see. The old man took the question seriously, thinking carefully, and then spoke, never looking to Peter, not once, and Peter could hardly breathe!

Calmly, seriously, "well, Andrew, while I do my own thinking and my own deciding, of course, I've lived many a year, and I've come to learn something about things and about people, don't you know. If there's someone I don't know about, a stranger, but someone I would like to get a better feel of, so to speak, I look to those I already do know, to see how they view that person. Now, of course, I don't ask for or take the opinion of just anyone; it has to be someone I have respect for, someone I feel is a good judge of character, someone who values the same sort of things in a person that I value. If I find one such who speaks well of the stranger, then I feel reassured I should also find things in common, things to like. If I find more than one such person, well that just up's the odds, so to speak. And in your case, lad, well, you are at the most recent end of a long such an endeavor."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey, raising his brows in question, though knowing he'd get that quick nod from Peter. He tipped another portion into each of their glasses, sighed deeply, and leaned back. Peter knew all the signs of a long story coming, and he did the same, and he saw Andrew watching and himself sitting back to listen.

"You see, Andrew me lad, I've been here in this parish since I came here as a very young man; that was over sixty years ago and more. This was my first parish-holding out of training, and I've never left, and so you could say I grew up here, grew up around Haven. I've watched the mistresses of Haven through these long many years, and found each was a right canny, knowing one, stern in judgement, to be sure, protective of their own, undoubtedly, but just and fair in their dealings with each other and with the community; not a one of them could be taken in easily, or maybe even at all, to my way of thinking."

"I've known Caeide, the current mistress of Haven, since she was a small girl visiting here, then taking some of her training here, acting as second under Agnera and Kathleen, afterwards for Maeve, and finally inheriting after the too-early death of our sweet Maeve. I've never known a more canny, more honest and straight-forward one than she, and while Agnera and Kathleen and Maeve had a strong hand in the vision of Haven and in the planning, it is Caeide who turned all that from dreams and visions around the fire to a strong reality. She thinks clearly, and well, and also sees quite clearly, and is no one's fool, and only a fool himself would think her to be one."

"When she thought to send for Mistress Maude and Miss Marisol, she spoke to me, us being old friends, and our discussing many things together, her knowing those things talked about would go no further into the community, and her having no one else local to talk over her feelings with. No, not to ask permission of me, of course; that would not be something needed, nor my place to give. But, of THEM, how important they had been to her, were to her now, of her concern for them, coming from what she'd heard about the state in London, to share her hopes of Michael and Patrick finding them, and either helping them, giving them aid, possibly, hopefully welcoming them here to share Haven with her, if that was their desire as well. She described them, with fondness, true affection, with discreet honesty, and I could see the liking, the love, went deep; I thought it a good likelihood I would like these two she described with such feeling. When they did arrive, I was comforted by how well she had described them, and I liked and respected them fully as well as I could have desired. In turn, I heard them all three speak of Peter here, Caeide for many years, and I sometimes wondered if she knew how much she revealed in her words about him, about how she saw him, respected and loved him."

Both Peter and Andrew were deeply focused on the old man's words now.

"For her words weren't just the words of a young woman in love, praising his eyes or his looks or his charming ways and sweet words and such; I'd have been more likely to discount that, for there's been many a good woman who cast her heart after a man not deserving of it, based on such things, though not so much the Clans women, who seemed to be more knowing. No, she spoke more of his kindness and generosity, his protectiveness, his strength in fighting and continuing to fight what ills fate threw against him, his courage and proud defiance, his skills and talents, and the heart-deep respect and sheer liking she felt for him came through, and those are things most young women in love discount for more superficial things, but which she saw so clearly and valued highly. She spoke of the times when the pub was not doing so well, and there'd be extra showing up in the till or in the pantry when he'd had a go at the cards, sometimes even when he didn't, and she knew he was skimping on himself to make that happen; when the half-wit who lived in his building had coal or food that showed up unaccounted for, so there was warmth enough to survive, have some comfort; of his mates, with him as the lead, pointing the way, protecting those who needed protecting in their neighborhood."

Peter's eyes were wide at this point; he didn't know she, or indeed, anyone was aware of any of that; had made a point of trying to make sure no one was aware of any of that!

"The other two from even the first they arrived spoke of him, with such strong affection and liking, and I built up a good picture from that. When he arrived, it was easy to see again how they all thought of him, how they valued him, and I had hopes I would like him as well."

Here Peter gave a wry grunt, "And that's a bl. . .a bit of a miracle," changing his words mid-sentence with a tiny grin, "seeing I was a dead weight when I arrived, and passed from that to being a right sod more often than not, and a right pitiful sadsack afore I started coming around," he grunted again, "well, as much as I have, anyways."

The pastor shook his grey head at him, caringly, even lovingly, reaching out to touch him ever so gently on his shoulder, "Peter, you arrived as ill a man as I've seen! Tis not something easily overcome, as ill as you were and with all you had endured, and for so long a time, and no one expected you to come through it without some kinks and quirks and some odd kicks along the way." He gave a grin of his own, "Sides, I'd heard from the three of them long before, about how you react to being ill and having to be fussed over, even in the general sense, and would have been astonished to see anything less," to a rueful nod and chuckle from Peter, and a snort of agreement from Andrew. "Thankfully, you were strong enough," and he tapped his chest over his heart, and his head, "here, and here, to come through it hale and hearty, for which we all give thanks."

He looked into the horizon, then back again toward Andrew, "it took awhile before he let me see him, you know, Andrew, the man he truly is, him being wary perhaps due to the chill of the welcome he'd received from others, perhaps from things other than that, but when he did, I saw the three had the right of it, without mistake. Once I had seen, there was no turning back. There's not a man I'd like better to stand at my side, or to guard my back, or to spend an evening by the fireside discussing all manner of things," and Peter's face was a rare study, him not truly knowing before now just how well the old man thought of him.

"I've learned to trust his judgement, as well, for he is as canny in his way as the others. So you see, Andrew, while I do not yet know you as well as I hope to," with a very sweet grin, "I've it on good authority from not just one, but by four people whose judgement I trust, that you are a fine lad, a good man, one they value and care about and, yes, love; one who they feel will be a strong vital piece of this home, this family. So, I see no reason to doubt that, had no reason before we met, and even less now that we have met, for I can see that as well."

And Andrew had a glow on his face, a radiant shine to his eyes, and a smile on his lips that Peter would forever bless the Reverend Miles for putting there. And as the two older men shared a smile, the Reverend nodded, understanding full well the words Peter might never say, but was clearly thinking. 

They looked up, startled, as the kitchen door swung in, and a dusty, disheveled and exhausted Caeide made her way slowly in, after having gotten her mount well taken care of and settled. They'd been so absorbed in their conversation, they hadn't heard her ride in.

She took in the scene, noting it was now full dark, lamps lit, but no smell or sight of food in the kitchen, the remains of tea, coffee, and whiskey on the table, any else remaining being only crumbs nestled at the bottom of a couple of tins, and she tried to frown, thought she should at least attempt a scold, if only as a tease. But something about the look on Andrew's face, on Peter's, and the calm knowing of the pastor's visage let her know that good things, truly FINE things had happened here at this table, and supper came as a far distant importance. So instead of a frown, they got a remarkably loving and warm look, the pastor a hearty handshake, and the other two a gentle touch to the shoulder.

"And you've been getting acquainted then, have you, Andrew? Our Reverend Miles, he's a good friend to Haven, to us all, and will be to you as well, I believe, if you wish it." She got smiles and assurances all around, and Peter took a fast glance out the window, seeing how dark it was, then a closer look at her to see her current state, and then an appalled look at the clock, realized just how late it truly was, and realized that she was back after a very long day, most likely without food or drink except from her canteen during all those many hours, and there was nothing in sight in the way of food for her now.

He leapt up, apologetically, "luv, you go get cleaned up and comfortable; I'll have something for you in a trice," though not having a clue as to what he could pull together so quickly.

She nodded gratefully, and started for the hallway, "I believe Maude left a pot of soup in the cooler box, and there's those loaves of bread freshly made," adding a mock frown, "unless the two of you managed to devour all of that as well," to receive assurances that they hadn't, but that, slightly shamefaced, all the sweets from the tins were long gone. She laughed indulgently, having expected nothing less, especially with the Reverend here as well, all three having a strong liking for sweets. Luckily, Maude had hidden away a second stash, one only Caeide knew about, that she'd bring out for tea tomorrow. For tonight, the soup and bread sounded just fine.

She went to take the shower she'd been thinking about for hours now, part of her just wanting to lean her head against the wall under that welcome stream and stay there, coming out into her bedroom wearing a damp thin robe, to find Peter waiting, leaning against the wall, holding a small glass of bourbon and a large glass of cool water.

"Figured you'd need both of these, and wasn't sure which you'd want first," with one of those smiles she loved so much. She stopped herself from telling him what she longed for even more than that water, that drink; there wasn't time, and they had a guest waiting below. Still, something in her eyes. . .

She drained the tall glass first, her canteen having run dry two hours ago, then took a welcome sip from the smaller. She'd brushed the dust out of her hair, leaving it loose, so it was now slightly damp from the shower, and he ran his hand over it, pushing it back over her shoulders.

"The pastor will be taking dinner with us, it being so late, and I'll offer to ride alongside as he returns home later, though he'll probably turn me down as he usually does. I think that pony knows the route home better than he does, actually, she's taken it so many times."

He sat on the dressing table bench, to watch her tie her hair back in a loose band, and change into a simple long housedress. Part of him wanted to stop her, to lay her down on that big bed, and slowly become reacquainted with those curves, hills and valleys, just to see if anything had changed from early that morning.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and she grinned at him, reading his thoughts very clearly, his thoughts so close to her own!

"Is Andrew watching the soup?"

"And the pastor clearing the remains of tea, and setting the table, and slicing the bread. Bless Maudie! I didn't intend for the time to get away from me, but we got to talking and . . ." he was frowning now, and she knew the liking between the pastor and Peter was such that she couldn't imagine there having been discord, Reverend Miles not being one to set himself up in judgement of Haven and its people and their ways, and she had seen no signs of such when she returned home.

She cocked an inquiring eyebrow his way, and he grimaced, "seems the Big Brown Eagle 'ad a few 'words of wisdom' for our Andrew afore 'e left, and they came tumbling out during the talking." His face was solemn, "we're lucky in Reverend Miles, we are, in 'is friendship, in 'is kindness. 'e was able to sort things out better than I could 'ave, certainly. Caeide, if I'd know when 'e was 'ere . . ." She sighed, knowing she'd get more later most likely.

"Possibly it was best we didn't, Peter, as long as none of his bile dissuaded Andrew from joining us here. If we had know, well, I doubt that visit would have ended even so well as it did," and looking at him, at what was in his eyes, she knew that to be the case. "Do you think it's been put to rights, or is there still work to be done?"

An easy smile came to his scarred but still-handsome, to her, his ever-handsome face, "I think it's mostly put to rights, though perhaps a reinforcement every so often might be to the good. I'll tell you more later."

He thought there might have been more in Hogan's speech, more that Andrew had failed to mention to the pastor, more than that last slight hint, and he raged inside at the thought of Andrew being considered a 'substitute' for anyone, as if he had no value of his own! and the sheer ugliness of Hogan's intention in making that suggestion to Andrew, and that might have to be dealt with; only time would tell with that, but for now, he thought the danger to Andrew's peace of mind had been quelled.

With her firmly rejecting his notion of checking her person, 'just to be sure, you know', though with him not saying to be sure of what, reminding him that having the parson and Andrew waiting below, with Andrew at least knowing quite well what was delaying them and being unable to keep his face from relaying all of that to the parson, it might be best to put such on hold til after their company left. He reluctantly agreed, admitting that knowing the Reverend was just below might have put him off his stroke just a bit. She snorted at that elegant phrasing, and pushed him gently toward the door.

"Get along with you, you sweet talker, you!" and the two below heard their approach being forewarned by their shared laughter. Andrew gave the parson a slightly wicked grin, to receive one in return equally as wicked, and they too shared a laugh.

It turned out not to be just soup and bread; Andrew had pulled out the thick slices of ham that Peter had forgotten to lay out with the lunch, and sliced some from the wheel of sharp cheese Maude had just broached in the making of those scones. A jar of chutney and one of mixed pickle were added, a jug of cider fetched from the pantry, and so Caeide sat down to what she thought a feast after all. A tin of those sugar and spice nuts she'd laid down last holiday rounded it all off, with thin slices of her special bourbon-soaked fruit and nut loaf put up to age at the same time, with another small glass of whiskey all around.

The talk ventured far afield, and she found herself almost dozing, between the length of the day, the warmth of the fire they'd ended up sitting around, the fine and full meal, and the bit of drink. She sat back, letting them carry the conversation, relishing the sight of them, seeing their enjoyment in the company, their true ease in this companionship. {"How rich my life is now!"} she thought, and Peter, glancing over at her, read some of that thought in her face, in her eyes, and his thoughts were much the same. Strangely, but perhaps not so strangely, similar thoughts were going through the minds of the other two, one newly come to Haven, one long acquainted with it, but both wrapped in the warmth and the shared love in this place.

When the evening came to a reluctant end, and Andrew went out to fetch the pony, the pastor looked at Peter and Caeide.

"I gather someone's trying to cause mischief with the lad? If there's aught I can do to help, let me know," and waved away their fervent thanks. "He's a good lad; he'll do well here, and I can see you care for him, and him for you. He was in the camp with you, you said, part of your team, and a valued one; I am sure he will be an equally valuable member of the team here. And, for a grown man, which he obviously is, and quite an intelligent one at that from his conversation, he's retained some of the joy and enthusiasm that most have trained out of them when they leave childhood. You, all of you here, have had much of the joy seeped out of you; I think you may find some of that joy returning, with his presence. You, in particular, Peter, I believe will benefit from that. And, Peter? Remember, Haven is Clan, and has its own rules and customs. Don't let anyone else think to tell you, and him, indeed any of you, how to live your lives." He smiled gently at Peter, who was staring at Reverend Miles, at his knowing and accepting smile, in shock, and watched as a slow, exceedingly grateful smile crossed his face.

"I'll remember that, Pastor, that I will," and they shook hands, in quiet understanding. Caeide was grinning now, {"yes, life is very rich indeed!"}

Later that night, in her bedroom, before the loving, he remarked, with a very quiet, solemn voice, "he's a canny one himself, I'd say," and she smiled back at him, "truly, he is, my love, and a most good friend." And she could see, she knew, even if Peter did not, that Reverend Miles looked at Peter with much the same love in his eyes as Peter had when he looked at Andrew.


End file.
